Brothers
by Melannen Halfelven
Summary: Forgotten, but not gone completely. As he tries to uncover Logan's past, Xavier gains insight about the brotherly bond between Wolverine and Victor Creed. A set of drabbles. XMen Origins: Wolverine Spoilers-sort-of.
1. Chapter 1

Just an odd little oneshot after seeing X-Men Origins: Wolverine

**Disclaimer**: if I owned them, they would spend more time wearing less clothing.

The Professor's hands hovered on either side of Wolverine's bowed head. When his fingers brushed against the man's skin, vivid images slammed into Xavier's mind.

_They had played these roles before. Jimmy, the insolent whelp with more brawn than brains lounged on the end of the heavy oak desk, and Victor, the exquisitely trained soldier stood erect on the opposite side. When the enemy entered the makeshift military headquarters, their attention would be on Victor, while the death-blow would come from Jimmy._

_Xavier watched the unfolding scene from above as a mutant – a teleport perhaps – stepped into the room. He was greeted by the officer behind the desk, his eyes never leaving Victor's broad, deceptively still frame. Stryker's eyes darted to Victor, a motion that did not go unnoticed by the teleport who was now covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The powerful soldier's lip curled in a feral snarl. With Logan's senses, Xavier sensed the newcomer's increased heart rate and the scent of fear that leaked from his pores. The unnamed mutant did not even have time to turn before the flash of animalistic darkness drove bone-like claws into his throat without a sound. The stranger fell dead on the floor, twitching slightly as the blood leaked from his body._

_"Good job, boys. One less in the world." Stryker nodded, and the two young men left._

_The Professor felt Jimmy's revulsion over the kill through their telepathic connection. The young man wiped the claws clean on his jeans before retracting them. Victor growled low and threw his arm around the smaller man's shoulders._

_"Good job, brother."_

Xavier pulled free from the psychic bond with a gasp. Logan stood in front of him, confused and on edge.

"What did you see, Charles?"

"I'm not sure." And it was the truth.


	2. Chapter 2

After the requests for a sequel, this is what I came up with. The flashback takes place during World War 1.

***Brief language***

Jean burst into Professor Xavier's office, her eyes wide and her throat convulsing. "Charles," she choked out. "It's Logan . . ."

"What's wrong?" Xavier wheeled forward. The young woman knelt in front of him, an open invitation for him to read her thoughts. His fingers brushed her temples and the pain nearly made him cry out.

_Everything reeked of death – congealed blood, gunpowder, sweat and rot. Xavier saw James's eyes widen a moment later when he realized that the stench came his own body. Quivering in disgust, he ripped off his brown tunic, or what remained of it, and stumbled toward the basin before retching up his meager breakfast on the floor. The two other soldiers in the barracks eyed him sympathetically and whispered amongst themselves, but after seeing the holes in his shirt, none dared approach him._

_James snatched a towel from the rack, dunked it in the bathing trough and – starting with his face – spastically scoured his body. He hissed when the abrasive cloth wore away his skin in spots, but he didn't stop. He didn't stop when his brother, Victor, entered the barracks and tossed his Brodie helmet onto the cot with a curse he'd picked up from dying German commandos._

_Victor strode over and yanked the bloody towel from his brother's vice grip. James spun, the edge of his fist landing square on Victor's jaw. The sound of splintering bone caused the two onlookers to jerk. Victor gingerly tested the break with his fingers before facing James again._

_"Stop."_

_"Fuck off, Victor." He shoved away the hand that tried to grab his shoulder._

_Victor's strong fingers dug into James's upper arms. "Stop."_

_James thrashed against his brother's grasp, trying to land more blows, before suddenly stilling. His breath came out as a sob and Victor stepped forward, wrapping his arms around James._

_"I can't do this anymore." A few tears belied his gruff voice as they seeped through his brother's shirt._

_"I know."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Reviews are the Silverfox to my Logan. **

**Thanks to Heather Valentine-Highwind, Anisney-Robin, and Paramore Fanatic for the lovely reviews!**

Magneto had given her a simple command. "Figure out what makes him tick," the man had said. _Simple enough._ Krissy snorted. _Yeah, minus the three-hundred pounds of muscle, the fangs, and the shredding nails._

The beast-man slept in a poorly furnished room that could have easily been called a cell for all its worth. A thin sheet was wrapped around his massive shoulders, and his dark hair flared across the pillow like a mass of snakes. Krissy shivered. If he woke, he would kill her.

The telepath padded across the stone floor. _Magneto certainly rewards his loyal soldiers_, she thought bitterly as the cold seeped into her skin. When she reached his bedside, Krissy extended a tentative hand and brushed his forehead.

_Victor heard the child's defiant voice above the cold November wind. He cursed the boy's misplaced heroism and crouched low as he approached the groundkeeper's house. Peering over the stone sill, Victor could see Thomas Logan holding James by the collar of his shirt. Only seven-year old Jimmy would have the grit to pick a quarrel with the full-grown, drunken groundsman._

_"Ya' fuck'n miscreant!" The words slurred and Thomas stumbled forward, slamming the frail child into the wall. James' head knocked against the stone and he bit his lip against the pain._

_Victor's nails slid from their bodily sheaths and a growl rumbled in the boy's chest. He stepped to the door and pushed it open. The warm, golden glow of the candles hovered in stark contrast to Thomas' looming figure. The scene seemed to engrave in his mind the reasons why Victor would never accept Thomas as a parent. He was a hateful creature with whom Victor had no choice but to abide with. Nothing more._

_"Let him go."_

_"Leave't alone, son."_

_Victor saw Jimmy shake his head, trying to tell the older boy to go away. _Always has it under control_, Victor shook his head. "Come on . . . Pappy," he sneered. "The runt won't fight back."_

_The drunk let James fall to a heap on the floor. "I'm not yer god-damned 'Pappy,' boy." Victor winced as the man's heavy fist cracked against the side of his skull. The child staggered to his feet._

_"All ya' got, Pappy?"_

_Another blow sent Victor crashing against the table. In the corner of his eye, he saw his mother clutching her rosary and crying. Victor pulled himself to his feet, giving Thomas' arm a quick slice with his claws. The drunk grabbed the boy's thin arm and threw him to the ground. Victor hissed as the man's boots contacted his side again and again. He felt his ribs break and pierce his lungs. He coughed blood._

_Content with his havoc, Thomas Logan stepped away. "Get back, woman." He snapped at Victor's mother, who was given no choice but to be dragged into the bedroom._

_"Get out." Victor rasped to the momentarily forgotten boy who huddled against the far wall. James scrambled to his feet and, with a last glance back at his friend, vanished into the cold night._

_Victor felt his body knitting itself back together – the strangest sensation. He hauled himself to his feet. Looking down, Victor pursed his lips. His shirt was soaked with blood. The boy grabbed his coat from the peg beside the door and pushed his way out into the biting snow. He wrapped the warm, dark wool around himself._

_He was thirteen years old. Boys his age didn't cry like this. He looked down at his hands, claws retracted. They were a child's hands. Small, weak, stubby hands. He hated them. He hated himself for he could not stop that wolf from hurting his mother and brother. Yes, he had known James was his brother for nearly four years. The boy had the same scent as their father. Muted, almost a whisper of an odor. It was the same as his own, but much, much weaker. At night, when he could not sleep, Victor figured it was only a matter of time before Jimmy changed too. At that time, they could leave this place. Do good things. Until then, though, Victor was alone._

_He felt the tears block his throat and he sniffed. He meandered into the copse beside the house and huddled against the trunk of a large oak. He was too old to cry like a girl. He curled into a tight ball, his knees up to his chin, and sobbed._

_The boy stayed like that for a long time. Small flakes of snow fluttered down to rest on his trembling form._

_"Does it hurt?"_

_Victor's head snapped up, but he relaxed when he recognized Jimmy trudging toward him through the snow. "Yeah." He wiped his eyes, but it was futile. "A lot."_

_Jimmy sat down beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders. "You did not have to fight with him."_

_"Better me get it than you."_

_The younger child shook his head. "Sorry."_

_"This is what brothers are for."_

Krissy pulled away just as Sabertooth rolled in his sleep. She quickly dabbed her eyes on her jacket sleeve and darted out of the room. She found Magneto in his luxurious quarters, toying with dimes.

"What did you find, my dear?"

"N-Nothing. He doesn't seem to have much of a p-past to pull from."

"Thank you, Kristine. You may leave."

**A/N: these will string together to make a plot, but until then... review!**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks (as always) to those to reviewed! **Lucky's Girl, Lightshade, Doreikage**, and **Crystal Cerberus **are made of win.

This is not supposed to be slashy at all ... if Logan seems too interested in Victor's hot, sexy muscles it's only because I'm too entranced by them not to throw in a word here and there!

........................

Logan, still massively pissed that neither Jean nor the Professor cared to share what occurred during their little rendezvous inside his brain, spent all afternoon in the Danger Room, skewering computerized opponents until the system had to restart itself.

That night, he collapsed on his bed with a huff. When he closed his eyes, his mind still raced over the day's fight routine. He wondered, briefly, where or why he learned how to fight. His techniques and skills weren't exactly taught in finishing school. Logan refused to dwell on that thought. The past was the past. He yawned and drifted off to sleep, his mind still working over the combat strategies.

_Logan's body was focused on Wade -- pale, scarred, mutilated Wade. Duck, slash, cut, fall back and turn. It was all muscle memory and reflexes. Logan had fought this fight hundreds of times before. Deadpool was nothing new. A new mask to an old foe, nothing else. Slice, twist, swing, cut and jab. The ease at which he fell back into his old patterns should have bothered him. It didn't._

_His mind was intent on the warm steel against his back. The rippling, living metal encased in taut flesh and department store cotton. Victor. Something in Logan's chest was aching as his wrath, contempt, and torment each became its own demon to claw at the tender insides of his ribcage. Logan felt like a child again, wanting nothing more than to feel protected by his brother's enveloping embrace. He hated himself for that weakness. He hated himself because it was so easy to trust._

_Hell, Logan scoffed, a century with somebody can do that to ya'._

_And it made betrayal all the worse._

_A guttural roar ripped from his throat and his adamantium claws slipped into the mismatched science fair project in front of him. It did no harm -- the skin was healed even as Logan withdrew his blades. Deadpool teleported rapidly before their eyes, feigning one direction before landing a blow on the other side. Logan saw his opponent glide to the left and instinctively moved to cover the gap. Victor always left that side open._

"_Nobody gets to kill you but me," his brother had growled a moment earlier, blocking a blow from Deadpool._

_Damn, Logan missed him._

Logan woke with a start, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat and heart racing. Damn, he missed . . . . something. He hauled himself out of bed for a glass of water. The cool liquid rushing down his throat seemed to wash away whatever was left of that evanescent, vanishing emotion.


	5. Chapter 5

I think this will be the last chapter. I was listening to Keith Urban's "Tonight I Wanna Cry" as I wrote it, so it's dark in a lot of ways. Thanks to those who reviewed - you are all sugar and spice and everything nice.

.........

Ororo always fancied herself a patient woman, so she waited. She waited for the man in front of her to do more than suck his teeth and snarl at himself. She waited for him to explain why he - Sabertooth, of all people - had shown up on the Institutes's doorstep. And, mostly, she waited for him to explain that damned familiar clink of dog-tags and the same bad taste in clothes and cologne.

"I need to see James," Sabertooth snapped, slamming his fists into the pockets of his jeans.

"James?"

"Yes." She heard his teeth click together. "James-fucking-Logan."

She blanched, and his nostrils flared at the scent of her fear. "C-come inside." She side-stepped out of his way, closing the door behind him. When she hollered up the stairs, her voice was strained, "Logan . . . could you come here for a sec!"

The large man descended the stairs, tense from the pitch of Storm's voice and the foreign scent wafting up from the foyer. Victor noticed how his face was haggard from two sleepless, wandering weeks since Jean Grey's death, his eyes lifeless and hollow. Logan focused on Sabertooth and growled, metal claws extending. "What seems to be the problem?"

Victor stepped forward. "James . . . ."

Logan looked like he'd been hit, taking a step back. He shook himself, bared his teeth and stalked forward. "I don't know who you're talkin' about. Get outta here."

"You really don't remember, do you?"

Again, the look of stinging shock passed over Logan's face. "Get out, before I force you."

Victor extended his hands, palms up. "Jimmy. . ."

The claws had bared the bone of his sternum before Victor could move. The feeling of hot blood streaming down his chest cut him in a way Victor hadn't thought possible. Logan was inches from his face, fuming as he watched with sick fascination as his adversary's skin knitted together in a fashion that was just oh-so-familiar.

"Don't you even . . . a little?" Victor searched his brother's eyes for any hint of memory, any feeling beside rage. Another swipe left Victor's upper arm in shreds, but he didn't budge. "James Howlett. Birth date," he flinched as the claws left his face gored, the thin skin on his forehead falling in front of his eyes, "Eighteen-thirty-five. The fifth of June." The last word came out as a gush of air, no more than a sigh.

"I refuse to let you -Magneto, Stryker, J- _anyone_, fuck with me anymore." Logan growled low.

"Bastard son of Thomas Logan and Elizabeth Howlett. Northern British Columbia."

"Stop!" Logan shoved Victor against the closed door.

"You killed our father. When you were ten." His voice gurgled as six adamantium knives slipped through his body, embedding themselves in the front door behind him. Victor's face twisted in the excruciating pain.

"Logan! Stop!" Storm shrieked, grabbing his shoulder. "He could be telling the truth. . ."

Logan pulled the claws from Victor's body. "Nobody tells the truth anymore." He turned and strode away, shaking his head furiously.

The entire building shuddered when Victor landed square on Logan's back, sending both of them sprawling on the floor. The first fist connected with Logan's cheekbone as the other pinned his hands above his head. "Jimmy!" Victor roared, baring his teeth and letting his nails curl into Logan's wrists. "You remember Kayla, don't ya? Execution in Vietnam? Three Mile Island?" He snarled as a solitary tear slipped down his jaw. "You kissin' Rose behind the barn, and me breakin' your nose for it?"

Logan shook his head. His chest heaved against Victor's weight, but the elder wouldn't budge. "I don't remember nothin.'"

"Alright." It was bitter, and then defeated, ". . . alright." Victor rolled off his brother and slammed the door as he stormed out of the Mansion. Away from the loss. Away from the grief. Away from Logan and the only family he'd ever loved.

Victor ignored the salty tears trickling down his cheeks. His bike purred to life. He swallowed back the hurt, the memories, everything.

"Wait!"

Victor barely heard the voice above the motorcycle's engine. He looked up to see Logan - James - Jimmy - whoever, standing on the stairs in front of an open door.

"Victor?"

The engine cut off. Victor glanced up at his brother. He swung off the bike, facing Logan. His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Brothers?"

Logan could only nod. He stepped forward, letting Victor's heavy arms fold around him. Victor rested his forehead against Logan's, his fingers tangling in the other's dark mess of hair.

"Yeah," Victor's arm snaked around Logan's neck, pulling the shorter man into his shoulder. "Brothers."


End file.
